


protégé

by i_am_op



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Violinist!Raoul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_op/pseuds/i_am_op
Summary: "Who's your teacher, boy?""Gustave Daaé, sir," Raoul politely answers.The AU where Raoul isn't a patron but a violinist of the Opera theater.





	1. Chapter 1

When Raoul was young, he'd sit by the seashore and imagine being a wealthy vicomte, living in those fancy mansions he's only seen in pictures inside books.

From the old rags he wore to rich new waistcosts and frilly dress shirts. To live an aristocrat's life, spending his days visiting theaters and shows, enjoying himself with trivial entertainment.

Instead, he had the comforts of an oversized array of clothes and a worn down, moth-eaten blanket. 

He still remembers his childhood almost quite vividly, filled with vigorous labor and work.

Every morning, he'd set out to sell newspapers throughout the neighborhood, then he'd help out Monsieur Hurd at his farm, chase away the birds and pull the weeds and get six livres for his troubles. Then he'd visit the market, bargain for fish and bread and return home. Philippe would then return from work, coming home tattered and dirty from working at the mines. They'd eat dinner together and retire to bed with lack of better things to do. 

The house was quiet and almost haunting, with only he and his brother together. It was often lonely with only himself to keep company, his brother usually not there or sleeping, from all the physically straining work that he had done.

This was the normal routine. 

The only thing in his life he looked forward to was coming over to Christine Daaé's, his neighbor, house. Christine was a soft-hearted girl with curly hair with rosy cheeks, who had a rather enchanting voice. Always carrying out a tune, her voice was sweet and euphonious to the ear. 

Raoul thoroughly enjoyed listening to her sing. It wasn't as refined as real opera houses, but when he sat near the fireplace and listening to her sing to him in the comforts of her house, it almost felt like a real concert.

 The house was always livelier than his, what with his brother always off at work. Gone was the empty and suffocating silence, instead it was filled with Christine's cheerful voice and with accompanying sounds of violins coming from her father, a violinist.

A father that he wished was his own, often. Her father was a kind man, who he remembered vaugely smelled of mint and berries, had offered to teach violin lessons. He agreed and surprisingly, he seemed to have some inkling of a talent in violin.

That was enough for Monsieur Daaé as he seemed set upon giving Raoul strenuous violin lessons that left his fingers calloused. But despite the sore imprints on his skin, he religiously came after supper to the Daaé's household and practiced his scales, his notes, and learning to read the foreign musical notes.

After a few weeks of this, he feels the hand positions coming more naturally to him, muscle memory sparking the familiar hand movements. He marvles at the slight improvement and throughout the week, he overzealously practices harders.

After a few months of this, he progressively improved. 

He's managed to play a few of Bach's piece and was starting to learn Paganini's Caprice No. 13.

After a few years of this, when he's celebrating his thirteenth birthday with his brother, Christine and her father, playing Kreutzer on Monsieur Daaé's violin (he couldn't afford one himself), does he think he really loves the thrill violin gives him.

Everything seems so perfect and fitting when the sounds of violin filled his ears. The haunting, staccato, yet soothing melody that filled his ears whenever he'd play, how the piercing sound elegantly flowed together. Suddenly, selling newspapers in the winter, chasing chickens off on the farm, feeling the ache in his back pulling weeds, all those seemed like trivial matters in his head.

It all seemed nothing compared to the thrill of playing the instrument. He felt his fingers trace to the positions they seem to have remembered by now, feeling the burn as the string ingrained inself against his skin.

It was perfect. 

And then Monsieur Daaé died from a fever on October 21st.

* * *

Raoul worked as a stagehand, directly under chief Joseph Buquet, a gruff and portly bald man who often drank during his duties. More often than not, Raoul frequently had to take over for him during performances.

It was exhausting running around, making sure everything was in order, that the cues of lights and music were exactly done right, but the pay was well. Five francs for his troubles. Besides, Monsieur Buquet gave him two livres for his extra work. 

Another benefit at working at the opera was Christine. After being parted for quite sometime with his childhood friend, he finally got in touch with her once again, only to find her as one of the ballet girls. 

A negative though, was the very chaotic pace the rest of the stagehands worked at. 

Namely, missing for a few seconds and having no one at the curtains.

The audience had watched as the actors ran off stage, yet the curtain stayed put for the intermission, visibly showing everything happening offstage.

While being oblivious to it all, he lifted his head from the script in silent musing when he glanced up and saw the open curtains, the audience staring back at them. His eyes hurried to the ropes next to the curtains and swiftly ran for the curtains. 

Setting down the bundle of rope he had in his hands, Raoul panickedly hurried to where the curtain ropes were and sharply tugged at it, immediately closing the curtains. He stopped pulling once the curtains were fully closed. 

He finally left a sigh of relief when he heard the orchestra play, starting their piece, the tunes of soft cello noises. 

"Hard at work, Monsieur De Chagny?" A teasing tone quipped at him. 

He turned around and was met face to face with Christine in all her glory, her chestnut curls falling, loose and elegantly, over her ballet outfit. 

"Christine," Raoul sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Joseph left his post. I think he's getting drunk somewhere."

"He's only like that because you're here now. He used to be a bit more responsible. Well, not by much, but he was, at the very least, competent at his job," Christine commented. "He's seemed to have become more comfortable lazing around, knowing you'll cover for him. How unfortunate."

As an afterthought, Christine looked and at him with hopeful eyes and said, "Very unfortunate. Perhaps you should listen to me and become part of the--"

"No, Christine," Raoul firmly stated.

"Come on, Raoul. Be part of the orchestra, you're making my father's violin collect dust. He gave it to you to use, not to stare at."

"I assure you, I'm practicing and polishing it everyday. I told you, I'm interested in becoming chief stagehand."

"Why?"

"The pay's better than being apart of the orchestra." He was right. There weren't many stagehands in the Opera Populaire, instead the work was split between around five people, less people meant a bigger pay.

"I'm sure it won't make a big difference."

"Fifty more livre than an orchestra player. Philippe's off in the navy and I have to pull my weight when needed," Raoul shot back.

Yet, Christine continued to appeal to him. "If you get a solo, it will cost more than a chief stagehand's earnings."

Raoul objected at that. "Who's to say I'll get a solo? Nothing's definitive in that, but I've already been promised the role of chief stagehand after Jospeh."

"You're going to--"

Raoul ignores her, instead prefering to focuse on how the cresendo of the orchestra was starting to die down and quickly goes through his head for extra stagehands to to tend the curtains in place of Joseph.

"Better get ready, it'll be over in about five minutes. You're part of act three, Christine."

Christine sighed exasperatedly at Raoul's stubborn resolve, but complied, walking to the group of ballet girls stretching and getting ready. 

Raoul grabs the rope that he placed on the ground and slings it over his shoulder. He'll assign Jean to the the curtains. He'll have to hurry, as there's only a few minutes left to tell him and to of take care of the lightning. 

Sighing, Raoul quickly ran to Jean's post. 

***

Cleaning up afterwards was always a bother. The theater was dramatic with their acts, always wanting to catch the audience's eyes. The bigger, the better.

Or in his case, the bigger, the more to clean up. 

Raoul sighed as he walked around the opera, looking to make sure everything was in it's proper place. There wasn't any turned on lights anymore, lingering stage set, props were put in their proper places, everytime seemed to be perfect. 

Now he just needed to check the orchestra section.

Making his way over, as Raoul went through the rows of chair where the orchestra sat, something caught his eye. 

A violin laid in it's open case carelessly. 

Raoul glanced at it, almost tempted by it. He walked towards the violin and gently grazed the glossy and polished insttument.

How careless of it's owner to leave their violin behind.  

Raoul hesitantly plucked the violin strings. It felt loose beneath his fingers and easily vibrated with an obtuse noise. It needed to be tuned. With slight guilt of touching another's possessions, especially something as invaluable as a violin, Raoul decided to do the man a favor. 

He picked up the violin, feeling the smooth surface, and quickly turned the pegs of the violin, plucking he violin every now and then, feeling it become more taut than before. 

It seemed to be finely tuned. 

Raoul brought the violin upwards to his face and the bow out of its case. A few scales won't hurt, after all, he was just confirming if it was tuned or not.

He plays some basic exercises and scales on the violin. The familiar melodious tune. It was definitely tuned and in perfect condition, yet Raoul didn't want to stop playing. It was almost as if he was enchanted by the noise. 

He had been true to his words when he had previously told Christine that he had practiced everyday, yet it was sparesely. It only amount to about a few minutes and even then, it was only a few scales he had practiced.

He hadn't had any time for to fully sit down and play some tunes on the glorious instrument. 

Why not now, he supposed. He hadn't had any duties to attend to at the moment. 

So he brought the violin to his chin and played anything that came in mind. Some catchy tunes he distinctly remembered, a few Bach and the melody he heard in today's opera, something he's playing by ear.

Then there's pieces he's had ingrained into his head. The Kreutzer piece he remembers playing on his 13th birthday to his brother, Christine, and Monsieur Daaé.

He remembers the half-polished version he had shakingly played, riddled with mistakes and slip-ups, and he wished for Monsieur Daaé to listen to the vast improvement from before. But he could do nothing, but play to the empty theatre room, no one to see.

With his thoughts, it almost seemed as if his sadness seeped through the the sound practically quivered as he played. He shut his eyes and let his fingers remember the everso familiar positions, despite not having played this piece for years.

As he was close to a finish, the sounds losing it's cresendo every note, he let the very last note drag on for a little longer than usual, unwilling for this piece to end as the nostalgic memories seemed to stick with him through this piece. 

How he missed Monsieur Daaé and his gentle voice as he instructed him on how to properly hold a violin and--

"That's Mademoiselle Marionette's violin," A voice rang out. 

Raoul quickly stopped playing, making a loud screeching noise come from the violin as he did, opened his eyes and looked at the source of the voice.

It was the conductor. Flustured and embarrassed at once, he brought the violin and bow away from his face. 

The conductor says nothing about his movement of surprise and continues to comment, "She asked me to pick it up for her."

"Apologizes, sir. It was out of tune and I was only trying to help."

"Quite a show you put on for us."

"R-Right. I'll put it back, sir--" Raoul abashedly makes a move to return his violin, but as he turns the conductor stops him. 

"Play me today's solo during the intermission."

Raoul was momentarily surprised at the request. It was unexpected of him to ask at this very moment.

For a few seconds, he stood there with a blank expression in stunned silence at the strange request before regaining his composure. "But sir, I haven't got a sheet or--"

"Just do play from what you heard."

Nervously, Raoul nodded. He brought the violin to his chin and started playing. He hesitantly played as he began reaching for a familiar tune in the back of his head, playing more confidently with each note becoming clearer to him. C sharp, G, G flat, all the notes coming at him as he remembered the faint melody.

Somehow, he thankfully managed to go through the piece without any hiccups. He pulls the violin away from his chin and rests it besides his hips and looks expectantly at the conductor. 

The conductor seemed to have a bemused look on his face before piping up, "Have you been taught by someone?"

"Yes sir."

"Who's your teacher, boy?"

"Gustave Daaé, sir," He politely answers.

"As expected of Monsieur Daaé's student," The conductor said, giving him an approving nod. "How about you work with the orchestra? You're that stagehand kid, aren't you? You haven't got much to lose."

"Sorry sir, I cannot," Raoul refused, pushing the violin and bow towards him. 

The man takes the offered violin and bow, but not before asking, "And why not?"

Raoul saw no reason to lie. "I cannot live on the wages of a musician apart of an orchestra, sir."

The conductor looks surprised momentarily. "Oh, I don't mean that. I meant as a solo. I would think you'd find fifteen francs quite sufficient."

Raoul almost choked on air at the amount. 

"F-Fifteen francs?" He practically shouted in disbelief. "It's all too sudden, don't you think this is a bit too soon? Me, taking the solo when I haven't even played at all?"

"Apparently the _phantom_ isn't pleased with our current soloist," The conductor muttered underneath his breath, grimancing.

Raoul paid that strange reason no attention or the strange look on his face, more interested on the prospect of fifteen francs.

"So? Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes sir," Raoul quickly says, easily compliant.

The conductor seems satisfied, walking towards the violin case and putting the violin away, closing the clasp before standing up. "I look forward to seeing you play." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why am i trying too hard for a dead fandom? idk, i just really wanted violinist raoul and there wasnt any


	2. Chapter 2

When Raoul played his first note, he remembered the familiar thrill of playing the beautifully crafted instrument.

He would've been completely immersed with his playing, if it weren't for the fact he had to listen carefully to the faint cello sounds to signal his cues. He follows along carefully, yet carelessly at the shoddily at the same time, focusing on the noises echoing from the pull of the strings. 

It's exhilarating, even though he's not on stage, performing in front of the open crowd. His face is obstructed by the darkness and no one would remember his face, observe his character, or notice him at all and yet, there's a feeling of frenzied adrenaline filling him up. The music, a graciously dignified sound, it filled the halls, and Raoul made sure to make it as pleasant as possible. 

The jovial pieces, he trilled on the violin and happily played, almost as if playing a cheery folk song on a fiddle. 

When Master Aglukark despairs over his dead wife, Raoul painstakingly used vibrato so much that he could feel the sharp burning sensation on his fingers. 

It feels as if he's living again. Feeling things that he felt was lost to him. It was going just right, blending in with the crowd.

And then the solo came up.

Raoul intensely watched as Carlotta stood by her lonesome on the stage. His eyes flickered back to the conductor, who was gesticulating for the orchestra, the sounds coming from them being fainter and fainter until there were no sounds at all. The conductor's eyes wandered to Raoul and gave him a slight nod. 

 _I have come here once more,_ Raoul thought, remembering the mental cues.

"I have come here once more," Carlotta shouted, walking back and forth on the empty stage.

_For I am in need of guidance._

"For I am in need of guidance."

Then with the flick of the conductor's hand and Raoul started playing the piece. 

A passionate piece. A fit of rage and confusion. 

Raoul attempted to recreate the feelings in his head as he fiercely plays the violin, attempting to match the tone, but every time he hit the notes correctly, the more increasingly anxious he felt that he'll falter in his playing. 

He tries to remember Monsieur Daae once more. His teacher, mentor, and father. How he always seemed to be telling a story with his violin, how he could always feel the anger, the wretchedness, the serenity, the hate, the--

Raoul plays the role of a blind man. So helpless and lost.

And everything seemed just right, how each notes on the sheet seemed to fit. 

***

"Raoul!" A merry voice called out to him. 

Raoul turned his head to see Christine in her elegant pale pink ballet dress, with laces at the end of the puffy skirt, that hugged her figures. Her makeup had been done, though not as quite as the main performers, but she looked gorgeous either way, visibly radiating with excitement. She was running towards him, slightly frenzied, chesnut curls bouncing behind her.

He stood in his spot, waiting for her to reach him, but he hadn't anticipated that Christine would jump upwards, onto him, and grab him into a semi-assault-hug. Almost falling backwards, he managed to retain his balance and no topple over, with Christine still latched onto him. 

"Good evening," Raoul jested as he reciprocated her hug, slightly laughing. 

Christine pulled back and beamed, her arm gripping Raoul's arm tightly in her excitement. "That was lovely playing!"

"Thank you. You were lovely too," Raoul replied, slightly patting Christine's arm. "Good form. Madame Giry should be proud."

"Don't lie. You couldn't even see me."

"Call it clairvoyance, but I could tell you were such a delight. Had ladies clutching their pearls and the gentlemen entranced."

"Yes, yes. Such a charmer, you," Christine laughed. "Though, I believe you should've listened to me sooner when I suggested you take the solo."

"Your badgering had nothing to do with it," Raoul stubbornly denied. 

"A delight. Keep that silver tongue to yourself."

* * *

 Monsieur Lefèvre looked nervously at the letter that laid on his desk. It looked innocent enough, just a simple letter, but he knew it was never a simple letter. He had paid the Opera Ghost his salary and done everything that had been asked of him and yet, here lied a letter. 

Apprehensive and agitated, he fretfully fiddled with the letter, almost daring himself to open it. He had known what had happened the last time he had ignored a letter from the Opera Ghost, so he forced himself to open the letter, with shaking hands and a heavy conscience.

_Monsieur Lefèvre,_

_I see you have replaced your violin soloist and I quite enjoyed his solo piece. I must say, a_ _vast improvement from Monsieur Abel. who was utterly tone-deaf. Fine time for him to retire, seeing as you have quickly found a new replacement._

_Additionally though, the chorus was simply atrocious. Teach them how to differentiate from flat to sharp._

_O.G._

He let out a sigh of relief _._

* * *

_“Raoul, Raoul, Raoul!” A voice shouted towards him, snapping him out of his musings._

_Raoul abruptly turned his head to see Christine delightedly running to him, her hair bouncing behind her for each step as she joyfully seemed as if she was floating._

_“Christine? Is something the matter?” Raoul asked, though it was very obvious something wasn’t wrong with the way she was grinning in clear ecstasy._

_She had visibly brightened, if that was possible, at his words as she pulled into a stop a few feet in front of him, almost tripping over herself, but that did nothing to eradicate her joy. “Oh, Raoul! You won’t believe it! Father has sent the Angel of Music down to me! After all these years,” She shouted in pure euphoria as she gripped his hands and feverishly squeezed them tightly._

_“The Angel of Music?” Raoul had almost forgotten the fairy tale-like story that Monsieur Daaé had told them about years ago, which was a whimsical and nonsensical._

_But to tell that to a girl of such jocular glee, it almost seemed as if it were to be a crime. Raoul dutifully kept his mouth shut about his opinions and simply queried, "Who is this Angel of Music?"_

_"I think he's my father, Raoul. He acts like he's an actual angel. He doesn't show his face, just his voice, but he's everywhere. Oh and his voice, it's so seraphic and--"_

_"Your father?" Raoul abruptly interrupted. He gesticulated, waving his hands around in an almost hopeless manner as he continued on. "Why, that sounds implausible. Are you sure, Christine? Are they not just illusions of the dark?"_

_Christine fiercely shook her head. "No, he really is there, Raoul. And he's now my teacher."_

_"Teacher?" Raoul asked._

_"Yes, he's been giving me singing lessons," Christine looked almost wistful as she said this._

_Raoul merely bit his tongue, swallowing his words. Perhaps Christine had been dreaming this scernario up. Perhaps she still hadn't gotten over her father's death._

_It was not a matter. She'll learn to heal at her own pace._

_No bother._

_He had stagehand matters to tend to anyways. Monsuier Buquet was probably somewhere, completely intoxicated_. 

* * *

"I met with the Angel of Music today--" Christine began, seemingly to bring it up as nonchantly as possible. 

Raoul interrupted with a slight sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Angel of Music? Christine, it's been a few years since you've told me about him and--"

"But Raoul, believe me. Have you not noticed how my voice seems to improve with every passing day--"

"--And that is of your own talent, Christine. Not because of some angel."

Christine's face turned red in her frustration as she frowned, visibly upset. Her neck crooked backwards as she glared at the ceiling and she seemed only a second away from tearing out her own hair. "Raoul. He's real." She looked away from the sky and directly at him.

"He even asked about you."  

"Me?" Raoul questioned with raised eyes and a dubious expression.

"Yes, _you_. He quite enjoyed that violin solo."

"Christine--"

"Just listen to me. I'll prove it to you."

Raoul huffed in annoyance. "And what exactly do you have to prove?"

Christine waves her arms wildly, as if gesticulating towards something. "T-That he's real and he's not some sort of figment of my imagination. That I'm not _insane_." With the way she was waving her arms, Raoul felt she, indeed, looked very insane at the moment. 

But this was Christine. He'll give her the benefit of the doubt, no matter how reluctant and unconvinced he was.

"All right."

Christine grinned with visible excitement as she beamed. "At the dressing room at midnight. That is where I have my lessons."

Perhaps if he were any less of a friend to Christine he would've flushed and refused to be out late with a girl at such a time. Perhaps he would've refused going with her antics. Risk the possibility of getting caught.

But for now, he waved it off with a simple sigh and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wasnt planning on updating but saw the comments and felt guilty :'D
> 
> So here I am, winging it.


	3. Chapter 3

The halls were eerily silent with only him standing there by his lonesome. As he walked, he could hear every single individual heartbeat of his. It left an unexplained chill that ran through his body. He barely managed to see the hallways, the dimly lit candle he held as his only guide.

He squinted in the pale, barely luminescent light, as he struggled to find outlines in the pitch black dark. 

It was cold, dark, and he was exhausted. Wearily, he tread round the corners and through the haunting halls with discontent towards his friend. 

Mark his words, this will be the last he ever listened to one of Christine's spontaneous request, he thought as he jolted, feeling a sense of fear at a sudden slight noise he faintly heard. The darkness and emptiness of the halls left him looking back each time, walking closer to the walls, as if attempting to ward off any creatures that way. 

He somehow managed to find his way to the dressing room and peeks through the cracks. Christine sat there passively and quietly, only a candle illuminating in front of her.

"Christine," He calls out to her in a half-whisper.

"I'm coming in." He gets ready to do such when Christine abruptly shouts, "Don't! Stay there. Wait for him."

Reluctantly and confused, he waited in front of the dressing room, against the door, rather tediously as he looked through the slight cracks, sighing. By now, his candle had ran out and he tossed it aside.

His fingers lightly curled around the doorknob, ready to open it after a few minutes of staring at the empty halls with lackluster at the ever missing tutor of Christine's.

He's been here for the past minutes, waiting for the  _ghost,_ Christine's father _,_ to show up, but all he's seen is Christine sitting in the dressing room by herself. She sat there stoically on a chair, simply persistently staring at the candle in front of her, as if expecting something.

Which clearly, didn't seem to be anything.

The flame danced as it flickered black and forth, the orange toned shadows on her face moving along with the flames. It was unsettlingly haunting just observing her sitting there without a single word. 

As he twisted the knob in slight annoyance, running out of patience, a deep, rich voice startled him out of his thoughts and his motion. " _Christine_."

That gave him a fright, as he jerked backwards from the dressing room in surprise. Thankfully, he had managed to refrain from a yelp or anything akin to that, not attracting any attention to himself.

He quickly maneuvered back on his feet and looked through the cracks again. He attempted to find the owner of the voice, but to his disappointment, he saw no one else besides Christine, no matter how many different spots and angles he stood at as he looked through the crack.

There was no one there. 

Perhaps he couldn't see it due to the angle of his position? Or maybe, it really was a ghost. 

That thought left an uncomfortable lurch in his gut as he attempted to shake the thoughts away. Just the angle he stood at, he supposes. No such thing as ghosts, especially ones who teach your childhood friend how to sing. 

"Angel," Christine replied accordingly, voice filled with audible reverence for this angel of hers. 

"Have you been practicing your scales?" The voice asked.

Raoul hadn't noticed it before in his surprise, but the voice was a lyrical silvery voice, dulcet in sound and seraphic to the ear. It almost seemed like an entity of its own, a translucent thing. Raoul could almost feel himself be whisked into sleep just from hearing him speak. 

"Yes, I have. Night and day," Christine instantly answers, seemingly unaffected by the blissful voice. 

"Good, good." The voice answers. Raoul had to strain to hear the approval in his voice. "Now sing them for me."

And without a thought. she does obediently, practicing her scales earnestly. They sounded as sweet as ever, if not better. Raoul mentally notes that she sounds a vast deal greater than when he heard her last time, which had been a few weeks ago. 

Had she really improved her voice in a matter of weeks, just from being under his tutelage alone, Raoul wondered. 

The "angel" says nothing about her scales, just gives a bemused hum that Raoul cannot decipher as satisfaction nor discontent. Christine doesn't say anything about it either, just sitting there, looking as ardent as ever. 

"Satisfactory," The voice merely replies after some time.

At that curt comment, Christine seemingly lights up, her lips turning up at the corners as her eyes shine. 

"Thank you, Angel," She replies. She pauses for a moment, glanced at where Raoul stood at behind the door, and momentarily in thought before speaking up again as she brought her eyes back into the candle. "Might I ask about the violinist?"

"The violinist." The voice paused. "Why do you ask? We are practicing are we not?"

Raoul watched as she faltered slightly, her eyes flickered back to the door, their eyes meeting momentarily. 

She hastily turned her head around and looked back in front of her. "You've spoke of him before."

"If you have time to speak of a violinist, I'd assume you'll have more time to sing," The voice says in a chaste tone, almost scolding even.

"Yes, Angel. Sorry for the outburst, I was out of place."

"But you have been improving. I suppose I can spare a minute to answer your questions. Speak."

"O-Of course," Christine answers, albeit a bit hesitantly. "The violinist. Do you think he's a suitable replacement?"

The voice scoffs. "He's far superior to the old man who played previously."

"How so?"

"Better technique. Why, even the positioning of his wrist changed the whole tone. An ideal violinist for the opera. He plays with such intensity, far more zeal. Perhaps he could be the one to play a piece of my own..." The voice trails off, seemingly deep in thought. 

"A piece? Are you working on another piece, Angel? Please, let me hear it! You haven't sung in ages," Christine pleaded, her head looking around the empty room.

The voice sounded considering as he said, "You have been quite competent this week."

A slight pause with a hopeful Christine that left Raoul confused at the keeness of hearing his piece.

"Very well. Listen to this as a reward."

If talking had been angelic, this was, somehow, better. It twisted in wicked ways that made Raoul flush horribly and fall into a trance-like state that left a deep dreamy feeling to him.

He couldn't tell left from right as he gripped the door frame, trying to get a better listen.

Raoul felt so tired, so drowsy. The voice slowly lulled him to sleep, singing a lullaby, leaving him so utterly far gone. It was late at night, after all, perhaps a little rest--

His head banged against the door loudly as he felt himself doze off. 

That definitely woke him up. With wide eyes, he felt himself jerk awake. The voice had stopped singing. 

"Is someone there?" The voice inquired. 

"W-What do you mean?" Christine hurriedly asks, looking over to where Raoul was, with alarmed eyes, warning Raoul, ushering him to go. 

Raoul quickly forced himself to tear away from the door and ran. He ran through the hallways, blood rushing to his head as he could hear his pulse pounding in his head. 

The only thing he hears was his heartbeat and distinct voices of Christine trying to calm an alarmed disembodied voice. 

He made it to the front door in record time and exited the Opera. He paid no mind to lock the doors, surely Christine will take of that.

At the moment, he was too focused on getting out as soon as possible. 

Though he was far away from the Opera Populaire, he still sprinted across the streets, empty and deserted as nightfall had wrapped itself over the streets. 

He reached home, still feeling adrenaline rushing throughout his veins as he struggled to catch his breath and calm down.

The familiar look of his house, old and small, slightly calmed his down. He walked to the kitchen, poured himself tea and fell asleep on his chair, thoughts attempting to recreate the sweet voice that filled his heart.

* * *

When he walked into the Populaire that morning, Christine was already there, waiting for him.

He reaches the door, flipping through his sheet-book, when Christine runs right to him, just barely avoiding crashing into him.

"Raoul, Raoul, Raoul-- The angel, he," Christine pauses as she struggles to find the right words in her excited state. "He's real. You saw him. I'm not lying."

"I never thought you were lying," Raoul stated, omitting the fact that rather than lying, he had assumed Christine was hallucinating things.

"How was he?" Christine questions, seemingly to glow in childlike excitement as she does. "He's amazing, isn't he? And his voice; it's just simply magnificent, yes?"

Raoul opts to say nothing, just giving a slight nod in response, still vaguely feeling the same sense of dread he had felt yesterday. He fiddles with the sheet-book at hand, more interested in the loops of his g's written on the book. 

"You're the only one who knows of this, Raoul. Not even Meg knows," Christine continues on, not noticing his downcast disposition. 

How loopy were his g's. He'd never noticed.

"I can try to let you two meet aga--"

He tore his eyes from his g's. "R-Right. I've got a score to practice for the upcoming performance. I'll be off for now, tell me more later," Raoul said, as he walked off, silently praying that Christine not tell him more about this mysterious ghost later.

As he tread towards the practice room, he hoped they never met again. His voice had been definitely entrancing, but he scared him to no wit's end.

As long as the ghost didn't try to harm Christine, he'd stay far, far away from the "angel".

Raoul moved along, waving to some ballerina girls he knew through Christine and a few other orchestra players. He entered the practice room, isolated from almost everyone as the halls were stark quiet sans his footsteps. 

He entered and began to set up his sheet-book on a stand, and got out his velvet case out, took the glossy violin out of its place as he unfastened the straps, and started plucking at the strings.

They vibrated with a just the right amount of strain difficult. He sat down on the cold wooden chair and started playing a few notes, decisively deciding nothing was out of place. Satisfied, he practiced a few scales before starting to practice.

Mid way through the piece, he feels a pair of haunting eyes on him. He instinctively looks around the practice room for any signs of anyone staring him down, but he was the only one here. The cast and orchestra members were out practicing in the concert hall.

He was the only one here, practicing his solo by his lonesome.

He uncomfortably shifted in his seat and his eyes went back to the sheet. 

He attempted to continue playing, but he played without the practiced ease as he had once felt before. The piece flowed as choppily as he felt. With every note, he continued to feel the eyes glaring down at him. 

A dread filled premonition filled him. Raoul attempted to continue playing for a few more moments before he had enough. He stopped playing with an abrupt screech resounding from his violin as he placed it on his laps, away from his chin.

Chilled to the bone, he packed up his things as quickly as he got to stuffing the sheet-book hastily between his arm and not even bothering to lock up the violin case.

He almost tripped over himself to try to exit the practice room. His belongings almost slipping out of his hands as he shuffled. He grasped the doorknob in his free hand and attempted to to twist it, but the knob wouldn't budge and stayed there, stuck in his hands, unwilling to comply to his frantic twists. 

Panic entered him as he tried to no avail to twist it, the doorknob jammed and in place. 

"On the other side of the door now, are we?" The voice startles him, despite how quiet it was. He jostled up, letting go of his sheet-book and violin case in his surprise. 

He hadn't locked the clasp of the violin in his rush and that had came back to backfire on him as the case pops open and his violin falls to the floor with a resounding  _clank_ , the bow promptly falling on top of it.

"Who?"

"Why, you should treat your things with care," The voice says nonchalantly, almost taunting him. 

"Y-You..." Raoul was utterly stunned and could barely form coherent sentences. The voice sounded of yesterday's voice, but to think he'd be caught this easily by this bodiless voice. Alone. Without Christine.  

He stood still with wide eyes, completely unable to move.

"Forgot my voice already? After Christine went to the trouble of having you there?" The voice continued on, seemingly not noticing Raoul's fear. 

Dread knitted tightly in his gut as Raoul loosened his grip on the doorknob by a fraction. "How'd you kn--?"

"Do you think I don't have  _eyes_ , monsieur? I have eyes everywhere in this place. Of course I'd know if Christine brought you along, silly boy," The voice says this in almost a taunting manner.

His once dreaded feeling turned into slight anger at the presumptuous voice that seemed to commandeer at him. Swallowing his fear and with confidence overtaking him, he felt a bit brazen. 

"And what of it?" He hopes his fear doesn't show through his voice. "Are you mad at Christine? Doing anything to her or me?" Raoul questioned. Despite his brazen frenzy, his voice still sounded a bit unsure and hesitant to his much annoyance. 

"Am I?" The voice asks. "I wonder." 

It sounds taunting and filled Raoul with pure spite and protectiveness. What sort of  _angel_  that Christine had dared to call him as.

" _Don't you lay a finger on her!_ " Raoul shouts to thin air and nothingness. The only proof of his sanity was the voice that kept responding. 

It laughed. That teasing and snarky laugh that sounded arrogant and melodious at the same time. "I'll have to receive something in return from you then, I suppose."

To come to an agreement with this demonic voice? This did not seem safe. But if it was for Christine...

"What do you want?"

"Just wait."

And wait Raoul did.

The minutes piled on and Raoul stood there, trepidation filling his gut as he anxiously stood there, unsure of what to do. 

The voice seemed to have left by then, but he was still stuck in there. 

At last, he managed to get out of the room by a passing orchestra member who had came back to retrieve a second copy of the sheet-book after having misplaced his old. (Which Raoul had a inkling suspicion that it was due to someone else's doing).

He practiced his solo, not with most enthusiasm as he would. He ignored the few questions of worries with his fellow members, feeling a deep gutteral despair as he awaited said promises.

Feeling the sinking feeling in his chest, he waited and he waited. He fiddled with the violin strings, had a half-distracted chat with Monsieur Croque, and practiced with part of his mind elsewhere. 

Afternoon turned to evening, he was too sick to eat lunch nor dinner and retired to bed early with an empty stomach. Not unusual per say, as he usually forgoed meals for money's sake, but never had he usually felt as sick as today. 

Raoul woke up the day, stomach rumbling and still waiting for anything to appear. He had waited almost a full day and nothing.

He got dressed in his crummy room, in shaggy clothes, and made his way down the steps of the apartment complex, the floorboards creaking loudly with old age underneath each step he took. 

Feeling hungry, he picked up a quick, cheap snack from a passing street vendor. As he ate, he felt a bit at unease.

He continued to walk to the Opera House, a small treat at hand. He greeted some people, had a nice chat with Meg, gave some tips to orchestra members who had been waiting for his arrival to ask him for advice. 

He cracked a small smile and sat down on a chair where many of his other orchestra members sat at. Most of them weren't here, a few number of them scattered around, sitting next to mostly empty seats.

Raoul took the time to polish his violin, tune it to his liking, and then when he went to start practicing, he opened his sheet-book.

He looked at it in surprise. 

There was a new violin piece. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not uploading for 4 months  
> is anyone even still reading this fic lol


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